Once again, loose morals, awful language, but intriguing story. Sometimes the author's bravado gets on your nerves, and sometimes you think it would take that kind of bravado and extreme self confidence to be able to accomplish the things he writes about.
Some passages that I marked:
"It is like this. Warriors are different. Whether you are a master of the ancient Chinese martial art of tai chi chuan, a sniping instructor at the Marine sniping school at Quantico, or a master chief at BUD/S out at Coronado Island, you have the same goal: to teach your students to neutralize the enemy by any and all means at their disposal, as quickly as they can. To instill this principle so that each man can carry it out takes time and effort.
First, they must be willing to work hard. To learn the craft of killing. Then they must learn to work as a group--remember all that preaching about unit integrity? I told you you'd see it again. Then they must learn to be flexible, both in body and mind. In Eastern martial arts, for example, you learn how to turn your enemy's energy against him. The same doctrine can be applied in running a Marine platoon, a SEAL squad, or an Army Ranger battalion.
Finally, you must inculcate in your men a warrior's soul. The soul of a true warrior is always prepared for death. What that means in plain English is, give your mission everything you've got--because in the end, you're gonna die anyway. So the warrior gives everything he does 110 percent. This, then, is the core of the warrior. The resolve that allows him to kill, face-to-face. The determination that keeps him going despite any adversity." pg 98
Because my sleeve length is thirty-five and my inseam is thirty-two, people tend to underestimate me. All they see is another knuckle-dragger who loves to use the F-word in various ingenious combinations. They forget that I have a master's in international relations from Auburn, and that I speak three languages conversationally and a half a dozen more well enough to get me by.
They know that I am proficient at killing. They forget that I am also a reasonably capable corporate politician. You can't not be a corporate politician and rise to the positions I held in the Navy, which included command of SEAL Teams Two and Six, naval attache in Phnom Penh, Navy liaison to Operation Eagle Claw--the rescue of the Tehran hostages--and SpecWar briefer to Secretary of the Navy John Lehman. It's impossible.
But that's okay with me. I'd rather be underestimated. It gives me an edge. It allows me the advantage of surprise. --pg 134
I worked for countless assholes like Pinky when I was in Vietnam, inflexible, small-minded officers with pea-brains, who refused to see how SEALs could be utilized imaginatively. Instead of using us as the tip of the tactical spear to terrorize and disorient the enemy, they assigned us brief supporting roles for their slow, blundering, ineffective armadas of riverine craft--SpecWar spear carriers whose mission was badly conceived and ill-defined.
The reason behind their incredible lack of vision was that they had all been trained as ship drivers, aviators, or nuclear submariners, not as lean, mean badass jungle fighters. They thought of war in the conventional way--a static affair in which the lines don't shift very much; in which one side attacks the other with huge numbers of men to take territory.
But as we all know now--and a few of us knew back then--Vietnam was an unconventional war. It wasn't about territory and huge armies facing off the way it had been done since the Assyrians. Vietnam was a brutal jungle war largely waged by small groups of highly motivated insurgents backed up by large numbers of highly motivated troops. To succeed, you had to hit the enemy the way he hit you: get in, beat the shit out of him, and get the hell out before he knew what had happened. Most of the naval officers with whom I worked just didn't get it. --156
A word about that. You're probably groaning now and saying why the hell is he talking about cannon fodder again. God, what an insensitive, politically incorrect schmuck this Marcinko chap is.
Well, gentle reader, cannon fodder is a reality of warfare. There are times when, as a commander, you make a decision that will probably send some of your men to their deaths. Period. Full stop.
When I created SEAL Team Six, I chose several of the younger shooters knowing that if I had to make that call, they'd be the first ones to go into the jaws of death. I did it without remorse or guilt.
I did not feel remiss about this because, as a SEAL, I am the Navy's cannon fodder. SEALs are expendable. In fact, all SpecWar units are expendable. That's the way it's always been. Indeed, the UDT teams at Omaha Beach in June 1944 lost more than 50 percent of their men. The planners on Ike's staff had known how bad it would be, and still they assigned those naked warriors their mission. The Frogs at Omaha Beach were cannon fodder. So were the brave Canadian commandos who lost 80 percent of their men at Dieppe.
But the generals who created those missions weren't villains. Nor were they callous. Sometimes, war calls for men to sacrifice themselves for a greater good. And when the order comes through, you don't have to like it--you just have to do it. No matter what the consequences may be.--167